


Choices

by elceri



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Darkfic, Implied Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elceri/pseuds/elceri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is faced with a horrifying choice, and struggles with his loyalties. Takes place during The Two Towers, some time before they reach Cirith Ungol. Draws from both book and movie canon, but mainly book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> First published in May 2003 under a different pseudonym that I can no longer use. The work is mine, and if there are questions, please contact me.

It had been a long night of travel, and Sam's body was heavy with weariness. Frodo, despite voicing no complaints, was walking slower by the moment, and his arduous breathing told Sam that he was nearing the point where he could physically go no further. Even that foul Gollum seemed to be dragging his body along feebly. They had slowly been approaching what seemed to be a large, block-shaped rock formation that marked a distance of about half a mile to a stand of trees, and Sam thought that it looked as good a place as any to stop and rest for a while. "Just a bit further to go, Mr. Frodo," Sam said encouragingly, and he thought he saw a slight smile force itself across Frodo's lips as they picked up the pace just slightly.

The ground beneath the north face of the formation had a smattering of dried grass upon it, which offered token comfort more than anything. Sam and Frodo both collapsed wearily upon it, struggling out of their packs and making up beds. Gollum immediately scampered off into the darkness, but Sam stopped caring about him the moment he disappeared. He turned his attention to his master, whose nodding head evidenced his struggle to stay awake.

"I'll take first watch tonight," Sam offered, straightening his back to appear ready and awake. "I'll wake you after a few hours."

"All right, then," Frodo answered, and he seemed in no mood to argue. He settled down with his head resting on his crooked elbow, and took little time to attempt to get comfortable before he fell fast asleep.

Sam sighed as he watched Frodo sleep. He felt as though he were the only living creature about at the moment, although he knew that Stinker was around somewhere. How he wished that Gollum would go away! He reminded Sam all too vividly of the power of the ring Frodo now bore. Gollum had possessed the ring for a very long time, and it had done unspeakable things to his mind, and turned him into the horror he had become. How long would it take for the Ring to do the same to Frodo? How long before its effects would start wearing on him?

Sam knew the answer to that, unfortunately. It already had, even though it had been in Frodo's possession for a mere blink of time compared to how long Gollum had it. Frodo walked with a bit of a stoop even though Sam carried most of their gear. He often fell into fits where he seemed as though in a daze, or thinking solely about the precious thing around his neck and cared about nothing else. He became jumpy and nervous if Sam got too close to it, and sometimes even snapped at him. He did of course immediately apologize, but Sam found those incidents particularly difficult to forget. Frodo was growing frighteningly gaunt as well, and had begun muttering to himself. Sam pondered if Frodo was holding secret conversations with the ring itself, because his eyes would dart around suspiciously, as if looking to see if someone were eavesdropping.

Make no doubt, the ring was already doing its work on good Frodo. The thought nearly broke Sam's heart, and he wondered how much worse it would get. Would he soon have two Gollums to worry about? Sam shook his head resolutely and told himself to stop those thoughts right away. He couldn't think of his Mr. Frodo broken, emaciated, and driven mad by the ring. He would no longer sing and dance, because he'd rather sit and hold the ring. He wouldn't want to talk about the berry crop, or muse about what the Elves in Mr. Bilbo's books were like, because he'd only want to talk about the ring. "Why," Sam thought, his stomach twisting, "he wouldn't be Mr. Frodo at all any more!"

The thoughts only gave way to more thoughts, compounding themselves into what-ifs and unanswerable questions that made Sam's head hurt. He didn't want to think about Gollum any more, and he especially did not want to think about Frodo becoming Gollum. He tried to turn his mind to other things, and thought about where Merry, Pippin, and the others might be, or whether the apple trees back home were blooming, but those thoughts only troubled his taxed mind further. Sam soon fell fell into an unwilling, uncomfortable slumber. However, his overwrought mind did not rest.

Sam startled into awareness, and he glanced around in confusion. The air felt strange; it was almost hot and heavy, like it felt back home when he would put his head under the covers to block out the morning sun to get a few more moments of sleep. He felt as though he had been sleeping forever, and he couldn't tell what time of day it was. Something deep within his mind warned him that all was not quite what it seemed, but the message soon became forgotten whe Sam turned over to ask Frodo if he felt anything queer as well. Sam rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes, and stifled a yawn as he turned to call out to his master. He cut himself off with a gasp of shock when he saw only a wrinkled bedroll where Frodo had been sleeping. Sam's heart immediately leapt into his throat, and he cursed himself for taking his eyes from his master for so long. Doing that had nearly cost them the ring once before, when Boromir had cornered Frodo, and now there was no telling what had befallen the weary ringbearer. As Sam scrabbled to his feet, he called out, "Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo!" He received no answer, but an indistinct shape moving in the distance, near the trees, caught his attention. "If that Gollum's done anything to Frodo, I'll have him!" Sam thought as he crouched and moved swiftly toward the trees.

When Sam reached the trees, whatever it was that had been out there had disappeared, so he crept through the brush as quietly as he could, listening intently and peering all around for some sign of Frodo. He suddenly heard the snap of a breaking twig and whirled toward it, by a bit of luck catching a glimpse of Frodo as his Elven cloak caught on a bush, revealing him for a moment. Sam dashed toward him, calling his name beseechingly.

Frodo did not answer, although Sam was certain that this time there was no way Frodo did not hear him. With Frodo securely in his eyesight, Sam followed at a distance. Brush rustled as it caught on Sam's cloak, and twigs snapped beneath his feet despite his best efforts at stealth, but Frodo never seemed to notice. It appeared he was either not concerned with being followed, or he truly did not realize Sam was there.

They continued their path through the trees, and Frodo seemed in no hurry to stop. Although his head was high and his gaze distant, it appeared he had a particular destination in mind, and after several more vexing minutes of winding through trees and brush they came to another clearing. Frodo stepped into the center of the clearing, his gaze now fixed on something that was approaching from the other side. Sam moved to step out of the shelter of the trees, but then froze in horror as a Black Rider emerged from the other side of the clearing, leading his mount.

"Mr. Frodo! Stop! Come back!" Sam dashed through the trees toward Frodo, hoping to drag him into the thick underbrush where they could hide among the pungent foliage. However, his movement caught the attention of the Nazgûl's horse, which reared and gave a horrifying whinny. The Rider immediately turned toward Sam, brandishing his sword. Frodo stood by, almost in a trance, neither moving to help Sam nor to flee.

"Master! Run!" Sam cried. He would do whatever it took to save the quest, even if it meant giving his own life. They had come too far. Sam stumbled as he backed away from the Nazgûl, so focused on trying to lead it around the clearing and away from Frodo that he could barely watch where he was going. To Sam's surprise, it pursued him, despite Frodo having possession of the ring.

Sam was at first relieved, then hit by a wave of paralyzing fear when the Nazgûl shrieked and lunged toward him. The rush of air that hit Sam's skin as the sword barely missed his throat returned his wits to him, and he drew his small blade, which seemed to glow and glimmer in a way he hadn't seen before. He held the sword defensively in front of him, flinching at every slight movement of the Nazgûl's sword and waiting for it to strike. He tried to remember how to parry, as Strider had taught him, but those memories suddenly felt vague and surreal.

The Wraith attacked again with a swinging strike that Sam managed to block, but the force of the blow knocked him off balance. He tumbled to the ground and crawled behind the creature, disorienting it enough that he had time to regain his feet and take a stance. "Feet shoulder width apart, one just forward, one just back," a voice faintly intoned in his memory, and his body immediately obeyed. "Wait for an opening. Be patient."

Frodo soon disappeared from Sam's awareness as he focused all of his meager reserves of mental and physical energy on the duel. He stayed on defense, blocking the Nazgûl's blows—although he knew he could not exhaust him, he hoped that soon the Wraith would make a mistake and thereby give him an opening. The hope seemed to be fading, however, along with Sam's strength. The Nazgûl struck again, and while Sam managed to block it, his heel caught on a root jutting from the ground and he tumbled backward. Sam hit the ground square on his back and everything went black for a moment as the air was knocked from his lungs. It came back a moment later with a flash of stars, just in time for Sam to roll out of the way of a downward stab.

This time, luck was with Sam, as the sword embedded itself in the ground where he had been lying. The Nazgûl gave a wail of rage and yanked at the sword, the momentary distraction enough for Sam to lunge forward with a desperate stab into depths of the black cloak. The Nazgûl shrieked and tried to parry Sam's sword, but the parry was off balance, and Sam's sword sliced into the Wraith's arm, severing it. With a screech, the Nazgûl grabbed up its sword with the remaining hand and sheathed it. The Wraith then swiftly mounted its horse, crashing through the brush as they disappeared into the woods.

Sam lay on the ground for a moment, stunned. From their previous encounter with the Nazgûl, he had expected more of a fight. "Guess he can't have much of a fight without his sword arm," Sam panted as he struggled to his feet. There was nothing but a scattering of ashes where the severed arm had been, and an eerie silence fell about the glade as the hoof beats disappeared into the distance. Sam then remembered Frodo, and as he sheathed his sword, he wondered what direction his master had fled.

Frodo, however, stood where he had been before, staring in the direction that the Nazgûl had disappeared. Sam approached him hesitantly. "Mr. Frodo? Are you all right? What's wrong? You're acting queerly."

"Nothing's wrong, Sam," Frodo replied, his voice strangely flat. "It's all right. It's all going to be all right." It seemed as though he was attempting to be soothing, but his voice had a sinister tone to it that made the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand on end.

"Let's get you back to camp, Mr.— Mr. Frodo? What are you doing?" Frodo had pulled the chain bearing the ring from around his neck while talking, and was dangling it inches from his eyes, staring at it as though bewitched. "Mr. Frodo, don't let it take you again!" Sam cried out in alarm, rushing over to try to shake him out of his trance.

Before he could even reach him, Frodo turned on Sam with a sharp hiss, his eyes flashing for a moment to a sinister, familiar, Gollum-like green. "It's mine! Don't you come near it!"

"I... I wasn't going to take it..." Sam recoiled, taken completely off his guard. He circled Frodo cautiously, scrutinizing him. Frodo turned with Sam, eyeing him wildly. He seemed to be a bit more stooped than he had been before, and his skin was even paler, almost an unnatural gray.

"Don't care!" Frodo interrupted, his eyes flashing again. "I say who can come close, and who cannot. I'm the master! Gollum"

Sam's stomach dropped, and his heart went cold with horror as he continued to circle his master, or what had once been his master. The very thing he had dreaded was happening before his eyes! "Mr. Frodo, what's happened to you?" he pleaded. "Mr. Frodo, come back to me!"

"Mr. Frodo is still here," Frodo smirked, and the condescension in his voice stung Sam. "But he is more than Mr. Frodo," he continued, slipping the ring from its chain and holding it in his fingers. "He is Master of the Ring... Master of the Precious..." He held the ring to his finger and began to slip it on.

Sam realized immediately what he meant to do, and wondered how he hadn't seen it earlier. "No!" he screamed as he lunged at Frodo to attempt to knock him over. However, he was too late, and by the time he tackled Frodo to the ground, the ring was firmly on his finger. Frodo, now invisible, shoved Sam off, the strength that had been robbed from him by the arduous trip seemingly immediately replenished. Sam looked around wildly, and then to his shock Frodo began to reappear, first as a shimmering vision, then slowly solidifying, the ring still upon his finger. He stood over Sam, the wild green light in his eyes brighter and more intense. "Will you still call me Master, Sam?" he asked. His voice was cold, and it echoed around Sam as though it was being carried by a chill wind, which made him shiver uncontrollably.

Sam scrambled to his feet and stared in horror at Frodo, who with the ring upon his finger made a more terrible sight than Sam had ever seen. He struggled with an answer, until he felt his hand of its own volition going to his hilt once more. "No," he told himself, but he could not stop his arm. He drew the blade, and then he moved forward toward Frodo, who did not back down.

"You betray me," Frodo wailed, his voice raspy and croaking. "My servant, my FRIEND!" He raised his hands, a strange glow emanating from them, as though he was about to cast some horrible spell that Wizards could do.

"You betray me!" Sam cried in agony, and before he knew what he was doing, he cast himself toward Frodo, the sword flashing terribly as it made one sure cut.

The light in the glade dimmed. The sword fell to the grass with a soft thunk. Sam sank to his knees, and hesitantly put a hand on Frodo's shoulder, where he lay on the ground, and pushed him onto his back. His eyes were open and once more their natural color, but they were now blank and unseeing. His skin was again its fair color, although already it was paling, the pristine surface marred by a vicious red gash across his throat.

"Frodo," Sam sobbed softly, frantically looking him over. He pressed a hand to Frodo's chest, trying to feel a heartbeat. There was none.

Sam lay beside his master for several long minutes and sobbed wildly, until he could barely breathe and could cry no more. Then his grief-wracked brain began to focus on a solitary thought: the ring still needed to be destroyed. He would to take it to Mordor, to complete the quest for Frodo—for all of them. Sam grabbed Frodo's hand to take the ring from him, but found to his alarm that it was gone. With a grieved cry, Sam crawled around the bloodstained area of grass where Frodo lay, desperately searching for it, but it had vanished. They had failed, both of them.

Sam sank to his knees and sobbed anew as helplessness overwhelmed him. His eyes shifted between staring at the thick blood still oozing from the vile cut on his master's throat and looking at the sword by his side that was stained with it as well, and bile began to rise in his throat. He had murdered Frodo, who had been so kind to him, and who hadn't deserved any of this. "I should have let you take it," Sam choked out as he gazed down at Frodo's ashen face, his tears leaving dark green spots amid the red ones staining Frodo's Elven cloak. "I should have followed you even then, as a good servant would do. I never should have forgotten my place. And now I don't have a place." He was distraught and at a loss for what to do now. What could his life be in a world condemned to darkness—a world without Frodo?

His sword called to him with the answer, and he picked it up, staring at it. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought himself capable of doing such a thing before now, but now it didn't matter. He had to get rid of the pain, the hatred of himself for what he had done. He had to follow his master, to make amends for this. He thought it sad as he stood, the tip of the blade pressed to his stomach, that nobody would know now how their story ended, and that their bodies perhaps might not ever be found. At least, though, they were together.

"I'm coming, Master! Don't go too far! Don't go where I can't follow! Forgive me..." His last words were strangled as he fell forward and the sword plunged into his gut, blessedly stealing him away to eternal servitude, by his master's side. He only hoped that Frodo hadn't gone too far ahead of him.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam sprang up, wobbling on his feet and clutching his stomach, the world rocking and blurred. He received no response. Sam quickly shook his head free of the fog of unwelcome sleep and rushed to his master's side, and he found to his relief that Frodo's throat was not cut. He was asleep, although fitfully. Gollum was nearby as well, snoring loudly, and for the first time Sam found a small comfort in his presence.

"Sam?" Frodo opened an eye and blearily regarded him as he sat up on his elbows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir," Sam replied as he sank weakly to the ground next to Frodo. "Nothing at the moment, at least."

Frodo nodded. "Get some rest, then, while the moon is still high," he whispered, smiling forcedly. "No need to trouble yourself over things that have yet to happen. We'll do the right thing when the time comes." He gave Sam's arm a reassuring pat and then settled back down, taking more pains to get comfortable than before. Sam nodded obediently and took a moment to shift his pack and bedroll closer to Frodo's. He slowly reclined against his pack, shifting until his body was just touching Frodo, so if he moved at all in the night, Sam would know it.

Frodo's stillness made Sam realize to his shock that he was shaking quite hard, and he drew some deep breaths, struggling to calm himself and reassure himself that it was all right; it all had just been a nightmare, brought on by their stressful predicament and exhaustion. "I'm not a murderer," Sam whispered to himself as closed his eyes. Just saying that word made a new wave a nausea wash over him, so Sam tried to put it completely out of his mind. He tried to think of pleasant thoughts again, and the soft wheeze of Gollum's breathing finally began to lull him, until he realized with a start that it was not Gollum at all. He was hearing it closer to his own ear, coming from Frodo himself.

Sam's heart froze, images of Frodo's transformation in his dream appearing vivid and unbidden in his mind. He sat up abruptly, chest and stomach heaving, and stared at the sky to will them away. It was several minutes before he was calm enough to relax again, and he then turned his gaze back to his beloved master. "Could I really do it?" he asked himself, a quivering hand stealing down to the hilt of his small sword. If Frodo claimed the ring, there was no telling what really would happen, he figured. Perhaps it wouldn't unfold as direly as they all had predicted—

Sam was startled from his thoughts when a sputtering, choking sound came from the other side of the camp, and Gollum got up, muttering to himself and continuing to cough as he slunk off into the distance. It was then that Sam knew exactly what his answer had to be. There was a difference between murder and doing what needed to be done, he reasoned. The images from his dream and the thought of his Frodo becoming like Gollum—a creeping, deranged, miserable creature that cared not for the things in life that made him a Hobbit, and most importantly of all, cared nothing for the one who loved him the most—gave Sam all the answer he needed.

Kings, Men, Elves, and warriors could have their debates on power, darkness, light, good, and evil. All he wanted was Frodo, and if that ring took Frodo completely from him, then there was no reason for him to live, and the corrupt shell of what used to be Frodo would have no right to live. "I'd go through with it," Sam resolved as he lay back down and draped a protective arm across Frodo, who sighed in his sleep and pressed closer. When they were dead, their friends could tell their tales and write their songs as they tried to wrap their minds around what must have happened to bring about such a tragic end to the journey. They could never truly know the true reasons for his choice, but Sam knew that Frodo would understand. He was the only one that ever did.


End file.
